


to know your every detail is a lifetime

by januarys



Category: To All the Boys I've Loved Before Series - Jenny Han, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before (2018)
Genre: F/M, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 01:50:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15831297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/januarys/pseuds/januarys
Summary: “Totally not what I had in mind,” Lara Jean says, pulling back to look Peter in the eyes. “That was really not, like. It wasn’t sexy, wasn’t it?”Peter shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe.” Then he grins. “It’s probably sexier than consummating. Wait. Or using thewordconsummate.”“Oh my god,” Lara Jean says before she pulls him into another kiss to shut him up.





	to know your every detail is a lifetime

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to [leave behind what holds you down](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15811791), but can be read as a standalone.
> 
>  **Warning:** first-times ( _explicit_ , in case you're wondering), Peter being really considerate, and octopus arms. 
> 
> Also, please consider this as a pre-rightbeforetheygotocollege thing. My Peter took his time with being ready to like, do it. He also really loves Lara Jean. I don't blame him. She's great.

Peter writes a note.

The desk is scattered with notebook paper, haphazardly torn shapes with careful phrases written outside the lines. Peter doesn't always want to give Lara Jean all the notes he writes for her - sometimes he wants to keep the words to himself. Doesn't feel too confident in how he's phrased the way he feels about them, about _her._

He'll be the first to admit that he's a little hopeless. At least when it comes to Lara Jean. Peter loses his nerve sometimes, turns into that eleven year old kid sitting across from her, the bottle between them their next step in time.

Then again all of this started because Lara Jean wrote _him_ a note. Cursive handwriting, her _e’s_ looped perfectly, and as Peter taps the pen against the paper, it's both as simple and as complicated as that.

He takes a breath, pushes the ink to paper:

_I'm ready._

Later on, Peter slides the note across the small cafe table to Lara Jean, who traces patterns into the condensation of her soda glass. Lara Jean’s eyes light up once she realises what the scrap of paper is, and her face turns from curiousity to confusion to realisation as she scans the words before her.

He notices that Lara Jean rests her hands against the table. She’s shaking.

“You okay, Covey?” Peter says, reaching out to hold her wrist. His fingers press into her pulse, and it flutters like crazy beneath his touch.

Lara Jean nods too quickly, takes a breath and looks at the note again. “Of course. Yeah, I’m okay. Totally and completely okay.”

The sound of the note crumpling in her grip tells Peter otherwise, and he feels a low panic rise in his chest. Maybe he should have approached this differently, maybe -

“Well, it’s about time.” Lara Jean says with a large smile, and it lights up the whole room. “Not like I was getting impatient or anything but _you know_ , I always kept wondering when you would say that you were - ”

Maybe this approach was best, then. “Hey, Lara Jean.”

She continues rambling. Lara Jean does that when she’s nervous. “ - and more importantly, _how_ you would. Okay like, you wouldn’t post it online for everyone to see and you _definitely_ wouldn’t tell Kitty because then my _dad_ would find out and - ”

“ _Lara Jean_.”

Peter makes a swift grab for the note, grinning. Lara Jean moves it out of the way just in time. She holds it close to her chest, presses it against the fabric of her striped sweater.

“Okay. Whoa. Now, take a breath.” Peter says, and Lara Jean takes a breath. “Okay. Did you seriously think I would tell Kitty? _Why_ would I tell Kitty? She’d probably tell _Margot_ before your dad - ”

Lara Jean turns pale. “Oh my god, _Margot_ \- “

“ _\- isn’t_ going to find out, because Kitty doesn’t know _and will never know._ ” Peter reaches out and grabs one of Lara Jean’s hands, the one that’s holding the now-crumpled note. “This is just us, Covey. You and I. Okay?”

Peter brings their hands down to the centre of the table, linking their fingers together, pressing the note between their palms. It’s an awkward position, but Lara Jean needs this. He needs this.

“Suddenly,” Lara Jean says in a soft voice, “I’m really - I don’t know. I’m nervous. What if I’m no good, _what if I’m actually terrible, what_  if - ”

Peter squeezes Lara Jean’s hand, probably tighter than normal if only to control his own nerves, which reveal themselves through the minute trembling in his hands. Maybe he should have approached this differently, because Lara Jean is anything but _terrible_.

“Whoa, whoa. Hey. Don’t think like that.” Peter asserts. “That’s not how this is going to go down. I promise.”

There’s a little pool of water at the base of Lara Jean’s soda glass, and it’s like stillwater. A lake that hasn’t been broken by dive bombs and dog paddles. Peter watches Lara Jean press a finger into the little puddle, draws a line from her glass to their hands.

Peter feels the cool press of water against his skin, his knuckles as she traces her finger along them, so different from the warmth of Lara Jean’s hand.

Lara Jean studies their hands for a moment. She takes another breath and gives Peter a smile that could melt all the ice in her glass.

“Okay. I promise too.”

~

Peter doesn’t light candles or throw rose petals everywhere. He does, however, make sure his room is a little tidier and Peter _doesn’t_ play any music because this is all about them, not the noise that comes behind the stereo speakers.

Peter does dim the lights though, because mood lighting is always a good idea.

Lara Jean comes in through the backdoor, and Peter hears her rustling around at the foot of the staircase. Shoes clatter onto the floor, and he hears Lara Jean mumble to herself as she lines them up neatly next to his own lacrosse trainers as she always does.

He can’t help but laugh when she arrives at his door. Her ponytail is slightly askew, her scarf is longer on the left than the right, and Lara Jean still has the note balled up in her fist. She narrows her eyes at the sight of his shoulders shaking as Peter settles down on his bed.

“I didn’t want to risk Kitty finding it!” Lara Jean exclaims as she tries tugging her scarf from around her neck, letting it fall to the floor. “For such a small Covey, she just _knows_ when something is afoot.”

Peter nods sagely, content with watching Lara Jean struggle out of the many layers of her outerwear. She’s kind of perfect, in all her little ways. “Like a bloodhound, she can smell fear. Right?”

“More like teenage hormones.” Lara Jean mumbles beneath her breath, and she’s finally out of her scarf, coat and probably a vest somewhere under there as well. “Anyway. That doesn’t matter.”

Lara Jean shuts the door behind her. Peter leans forward on his knees.

“Hi again.” Lara Jean says quietly. Peter really wants to kiss her. His chest is warm at the sight of her, the flush of her cheeks and that dim sparkle in her eyes.

Lara Jean thinks people don’t notice her, but Peter is happy to make up for it.

“Hey,” Peter says, and then Lara Jean is starting to unbutton her blouse with the note still in her hand and it’s a mixture of funny and _what the hell._  Wait. “Whoa, whoa!”

Peter holds out his hands, signaling for Lara Jean to stop, and _hopes_ that she gets it. She does and looks at Peter with a confused expression. “What?” Lara Jean asks, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m just - “

“Lara Jean.” Peter says, trying to keep down the laughter because once again, he’s struck by how in love he is with this girl. “Just. You gotta relax a little bit, okay?”

Then Peter holds out a hand, tries to reassure her with his eyes. Lara Jean softens at the sight and reaches out for it, taking a step forward and grips, tight then gentle. Another puzzle piece slotted into place.

“You trust me, Covey?”

Peter’s voice is soft as he guides her towards him, Lara Jean fitting into the ‘v’ shape between his knees. The note falls to the floor, forgotten.

Her height makes it easy for Peter to reach up and pull the scrunchie from her hair, and it falls over her shoulders. Her scent rushes over him, warm perfume and _Lara Jean_.

Lara Jean brings a hand to Peter’s face, smooths her fingers through his hair. “ _You gotta trust_ ,” she echoes to him.

He kisses her then, slowly, just to kiss her. Not to do anything else, and even though this is all planned, there’s a part of Peter that would even be happy to just lay down here with Lara Jean. Probably kiss the hell out of her until they both fall asleep.

Peter doesn’t though, instead he breaks their clinch and shuffles back, so Lara Jean can straddle him which she is _really_ good at doing. Her hands follow their familiar path along his neck to cling to, and Peter teases the hem of her blouse. It’s tucked into the plaid skirt that falls just short of her knees, lifted just that bit higher due to her position.

Yeah, that heat is beginning to fill his belly again. Lara Jean really doesn’t need to do much.

“Hey. What’s in your head, Covey?” Peter’s voice is low, to his surprise, and he presses a small kiss to Lara Jean’s jawline.

Peter feels Lara Jean shrug as he untucks her blouse, feels her jump suddenly at the feather-touch of his fingers dancing along the skin of her belly, the curve of her hips. Peter can feel the goosebumps beneath his fingertips, and he presses another kiss at the hollow of Lara Jean’s jaw.

“J-just,” she starts, her voice shaking slightly. Lara Jean shifts, unknowingly, and Peter feels the heat shoot straight to his, _well._  “You’re just, _really_ good at this.”

“Probably.” Peter murmurs against her skin, and he runs his fingers along the line of her bra before he shifts back slightly, enough so to pull her blouse over her head. Better that she unbuttoned the top three beforehand. “But, you know, maybe _you’re_ better at this than you think.”

Lara Jean takes a breath, and it could also be a scoff, as the cooler air hits her skin, at the feel of Peter’s arms against her sides, his hands tracing patterns into her back.

“That’s sweet.” Lara Jean tries to keep her voice steady, and Peter notes that she’s following his lead. Lara Jean brings her hands down to the edge of Peter’s own shirt and brings it over his head too.

Not for lack of trying.

It gets stuck for a bit, there’s a few tangles and laughter because, well, his arms were around _her_ and suddenly there’s limbs everywhere. It’s like an octopus. A _confused_ octopus. They both end up in a fit of giggles as they finally manage to get Peter’s shirt thrown somewhere in the room, and Lara Jean’s face is buried in the crook of his neck, muffled laughter against his skin.

“Totally _not_ what I had in mind,” Lara Jean says, pulling back to look Peter in the eyes. “That was really not, like. It wasn’t sexy, wasn’t it?”

Peter shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe.” Then he grins. “It’s _probably_ sexier than consummating. Wait. Or _using_ the word consummate.”

“Oh my god,” Lara Jean says before she pulls him into another kiss to shut him up, and the laughter that was starting to form in his chest turns into something else at the familiar warmth of Lara Jean’s mouth.

Pulling Lara Jean closer to him, Peter kisses her deep. Not hard, but firm enough that Lara Jean makes a little sound as he brushes his tongue against hers. Her fingers tug unconsciously at the hair on the nape of his neck, grips him hard enough that Lara Jean can probably count his bones with her fingers.

He toys with the straps of her bra, brings it off both shoulders one at a time. It’s cute, Peter notes, similar colours to her room. Teal with splashes of yellow and red rosettes, tiny green silk leaves scattered like a painting. He follows the material to the back, to the clasp, brings his other hand to unhook it with _maybe_ too much practiced ease.

Lara Jean instantly holds the bra in place, arms crossed along her chest, hands keeping herself together. The flush on her cheeks makes Peter’s heart feel warm.

“Too fast?” Peter says, one arm around Lara Jean’s small waist holding her steady, his free hand tucking a lock of her long hair behind her ear. “You want me to stop, Lara Jean?”

Lara Jean meets Peter’s eyes again and shakes her head. She obviously can’t find the words but that’s okay. Peter can fill in the gaps where it’s empty.

Then, Peter decides to lift her, one arm around Lara Jean’s waist and the other under her thighs, turning them around swiftly so Lara Jean is lying down on his bed.

She’s pretty like this, Peter thinks to himself. Lara Jean looks lost in the expanse of dark plaid sheets, her hair fanned out around her like it was deliberately done. She’s still holding onto her bra, but her face has lost the tension from before - she just watches Peter like he has all the answers.

Peter settles down on top of her, hands resting either side of her face, fully clothed knees on either side of her hips. Safe. He hasn’t realised how small she is compared to him, at least not until she’s beneath him like this.

“Lara Jean, hey, if you want me to stop at any time, you say so.” Peter brings his face down, and Lara Jean turns her head, so he can whisper in her ear. His lips brush against the skin of her earlobe, and she shudders. “You tell me to stop, and I’ll stop. Promise.”

At the nod of her head, Peter kisses her earlobe, her cheek, her jaw. He kisses her again, her mouth plush and warm, and continues down to the skin of her neck. Lara Jean stiffens at the contact but doesn’t say anything. Only a soft sigh comes from her mouth.

His hands find her own hands, and Peter gently coaxes them away from her bra. He takes a moment, gives Lara Jean’s hands a reassuring squeeze, and pulls the material away from her chest. Peter hears her gasp at the shock of cool air against her chest, and the sound makes him hard. Harder.

 _Damn,_ but if this girl doesn’t know what she does to him.

Peter smooths a hand over the curve of Lara Jean’s hip, then slowly, slowly over the curve of her breast. She leans into the touch, her back arching softly, and Peter takes that as a sign to continue. So he does, and leans down to kiss the curve of her other breast, then drags his mouth over the deep pink bud that kept teasing his vision, and Lara Jean _gasps._

But that sound just makes Peter go harder, both for himself _and_ for Lara Jean. His tongue wraps around her nipple, a slight brush of teeth as his other hand fondles her other breast, and when Lara Jean tangles her fingers in his hair, _God_ , but isn’t that a treat for his own senses.

Peter comes up for air, to see Lara Jean’s face flushed and full of _shock_ , but the good kind of shock. The shock that can morph into pure bliss. She really is something else.

A low whine comes from Lara Jean as Peter moves his mouth away from her breast, to the dip in the centre of her chest. A trail of butterfly kisses down to her navel, Peter’s hands a sure grip on her hips before they play with the waist of her skirt.

“You - you want me to...?” Peter begins, gruffly, but it seems that Lara Jean has just _magically_ lost her voice as she simply tugs on his hair in response. An affirmative response.

Laughter rises from Peter’s chest as he draws down the tiny zipper on the side before pulling Lara Jean’s skirt down over her thighs, her knees, and Peter notes that she kicks it away eagerly.

“You’re - _you’re really_ good at this,” Lara Jean manages to breathe out, as Peter fumbles with her panties, the same design as her really cute bra. Yeah, she planned that.

“I’m not _that good_.” Peter plants another kiss right above the curls that reveal themselves as he pulls her underwear down over her thighs, and her hands come around to cup Peter’s jaw. Just to look at him, most likely. “I’m just - “

So Peter looks at Lara Jean, and she’s still rather focused on _him_ considering the haze that’s clouding her dark eyes. Darker than normal. The dim lighting of the room casts soft shadows against Lara Jean’s face, the lines of her soft body, highlights the rise-and-fall of her chest. If Peter focuses, he can see the areas where his mouth lay their claim. Slightly pink to the rest of her pale skin.

Peter gives her a soft smile. “You’re pretty,” he tells her, keeping his voice as even as he can, as his hand smooths over the curve of her thigh to brush her dark curls. “You’re always pretty but. Whoa, yeah. This is different.”

“Is it?” Lara Jean says quietly as she watches Peter, watches his hand dip out of sight and she falls back against the pillows as he slides a finger inside of her, and Lara Jean is so _warm,_  so _wet_ , that Peter is too busy being awed by her to notice Lara Jean pushing herself further down, almost grinding.

“Totally different.” Peter says, and Lara Jean tightens around him.

“ _I’ll -_ I’ll bet.” Lara Jean manages to say, and she gasps as Peter slips in a second finger. She’s really tight, and Peter feels bad at the fact that he’s the _very first_ to ever do this. He shouldn’t, but damn she knows all the ways to make him feel special. Unintentional or not.

She opens up around him, tightens again and again as Peter takes his time with his movements, guiding himself by the way Lara Jean sounds out her pleasure, her secret thrill. Even though Peter is responsible for it, only _she_ knows how she feels. Only _she_ knows how she’ll react.

“I think,” Lara Jean pants out, not breathing steadily, not really _anything_ except overwhelmed, “I think you should - ”

Peter is achingly hard at the sight, the sound of Lara Jean. “Y-yeah. You’re right,” he pulls his fingers out of her, slick with _her_ , let’s his thumb brush against the bundle of nerves right at the top of her, and Lara Jean buckles with a gasp.

He doesn’t realise that he’s sweating until Peter sits back to pull down his track pants, and he should probably be embarrassed by the way Lara Jean watches him with a half-lidded gaze. He ducks his head to avoid her eyes, suddenly _really_ embarrassed because there’s always that low-lying shame that comes with _doing this._

Peter didn’t think it would happen with Lara Jean, at least. Happened all the time with Gen, whenever they managed to stop being petty at each other to take a breather. Lara Jean, though, she always manages to keep that feeling away, in all her little ways.

Maybe it's because it's her first time, and it's definitely not _his_ first time.

“Hey,” and then Lara Jean is sitting right in front of him, her cheeks still warm and her hair a little more mussed than it was. She looks perfect, though, like she was always supposed to be here, and this was always supposed to happen.

“Hey. Hi,” Peter says, and Lara Jean holds his face. Thumbs brushing his cheekbones, a tremble in her hold. “You’re not shaking that much.”

“ _Externally_ _."_  Lara Jean comments lightly, a slight shake in her voice. “Internally, yes. I’m an earthquake. Like, at _least_ an eight on the scale. I’m just good at hiding it.”

Peter huffs, feels his heart being to race as Lara Jean pushes back the hair that was clinging to his forehead. “Smartypants,” he says, curling an arm around her waist to hold her close.

“I’m not trying to be. Much.” Lara Jean says. “But I know you, Peter Kavinsky.”

“Oh, really?” Peter mumbles into the crook of her neck, fingers of his other hand tracing up and down Lara Jean’s arm. Traces the pattern, dances along the goosebumps on her skin.

“Yes, really.” Lara Jean presses against him, sighs into Peter’s touch. “And you know what? You’re doing great. _Really great_. I have _literally_ no complaints.”

Peter laughs, holds onto Lara Jean a little tighter and kisses her as he brings them back down to the bed, kisses her as she begins to open up in his arms again. He’s pressed up against her and it’s almost uncomfortable, and Peter _knows_ Lara Jean wants him. All of him.

Somewhere along the line, their kisses turn into something more heated. More unbound. There’s soft little noises coming from her throat, broken gasps as Peter’s fingers make their way inside of her again. One, two, and Lara Jean tears herself away from Peter’s mouth to turn her head to the side, eyes screwed shut in unbridled bliss.

“ _Peter_ ,” she breathes out, and that’s when Peter knows that it’s time, _hell yeah,_ it’s time.

“Whoa, stay with me, Covey,” Peter manages to say, reaching over to his bedside table to grab the little packet that blinks at him in the slightly-darkened room. “We’re not - “

Peter pulls back, tears the packet open with his teeth. He’s pretty hard at this point, just by the way Lara Jean tightens around his fingers, the heat that pours out from her skin. He could have her like this forever, what a thought.

“It’ll – “ Peter winces as he rolls the rubber onto his length, way too sensitive to his own touch at the moment. He might explode, he might - “ _shit_ , Lara Jean. It’ll probably hurt, okay? I don’t know - I can’t make it easy for you. I’m sorry, I just - ”

Lara Jean manages to nod, flinches as Peter removes his fingers. Lara Jean’s hands shakily come up to grip his tensed shoulders, and if he doesn’t do this now then it will _definitely_ be too much.

Peter takes a moment, presses his forehead against Lara Jean. Breathes her in. Her scent is different, slightly so. Sweat, warm perfume. Lara Jean. Her thumbs trace the hard muscle protruding from his neck.

He’s beginning to become undone.

“Okay.” Lara Jean whispers, and Peter enters her. Slowly, slowly, together.

There’s a slight whimper from Lara Jean, and it’s torturous for Peter to keep it as steady as he can. She’s so tight around him, it’s too much to bear. He waits for her to pull away, to scramble back and be done with it.

But she doesn’t, and instead there’s a small whine that Peter knows Lara Jean doesn’t realise she’s doing, and Peter buries his face in the crook of her neck, beads of sweat on every part of her skin and then Peter is inside of her, completely.

He needs a second.

“Lara Jean,” he coughs out, and his skin doesn’t feel like his skin. Like it belongs to someone else. He wants to burst out of it.

“I’m okay.” Lara Jean manages. She clings to him like Peter is her lifeline, like Peter is all she has at this moment. “It’s... different. But I’m okay. _You're_ okay.”

Peter kisses her again, and it’s chaste. Messy. Unlike how they normally kiss. But his heart is racing, like he’s run ten marathons in a row, like he’s watching Lara Jean step into that hot tub in her nightie once again. Peter wants to tell her everything, wants to spill out all the secrets she already knows, all the love he wants to keep on giving her.

Then they find a rhythm. It doesn't make too much sense, but it’s _their_ rhythm. _Their_ own melody. Peter presses more kisses into Lara Jean’s collarbone, into the sweat-damp skin that he is the cause of and she arches into him as the movements become more staggered, more animalistic.

Lara Jean tightens around his length, and Peter rides the sensation quickly. Wants Lara Jean to feel good, to feel perfect. How he sees her, how he _knows_ her. He brings a hand to smooth over the bliss on her forehead, and then Lara Jean’s eyes snap open and a soft moan that sounds like an ending comes from her lips.

Then Peter follows shortly behind, and he is undone.

~

Later on, when the rubber is somewhere at the bottom of Peter’s outdoor trash can, when the night sky is what lights up his room, when Lara Jean is wearing his sweatshirt because her hair is damp from a warm shower and she’s cold, his sheets aren’t enough for warmth -

Peter curls into Lara Jean’s form, presses another kiss into her clothed shoulder. Lara Jean sighs against him as he snakes an arm around her waist, their legs tangled in his bed sheets. But Lara Jean’s in Peter’s arms like she was always meant to fit, every curve pressed against every dip and hard edge of his own body. A crazy kind of jigsaw puzzle only they know how to complete.

“I love you, Lara Jean.” Peter speaks into the sweatshirt, and Lara Jean links their fingers together. Presses their arms against her chest like a vice grip, like a chain keeping her together.

“Well. I love you, Peter Kavinsky.”

Peter squeezes her, gently, and buries his face in her hair.

“And you consummate stuff pretty good, too!” Lara Jean exclaims, sounding ridiculously proud of herself.

“You just - yeah, moment ruined.”

“ _Or_ I made it ten times better. Admit it.”

“Yeah.” Peter kisses the back of her neck, and falls for Lara Jean a little harder with each passing second. “Still ruined.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> *Laganja S6 Drag Race entrance* Ya'll wanted some smut, hey?
> 
> I have to admit, I wasn't expecting such warm and wonderful feedback from everyone for my first foray into TATBILB. The original intention _was_ for smut, but it didn't quite fit in with the moment.
> 
> Sex is always difficult to write because _whose hands are these_ but more than anything, Peter  & Lara Jean are both wonderful and terrible at communicating with each other. I hope I captured that well. Once again, I hope I did these two justice and I haven't tarnished them for everyone.
> 
> Pfft. Nah.
> 
> Story title from 'Shapeshifters' - Hands Like Houses (listen to the recollect acoustic version - it's very Peter/Lara Jean!)


End file.
